


All Those People In Those Old Photographs I've Seen Are Dead

by earbudmusic (icomparemyselftoyou)



Series: Nightmares [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Nightmares, What is tagging and how, disembodied voice - Freeform, i don't knw, is it over, maybe not, patrick and pete kinda sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icomparemyselftoyou/pseuds/earbudmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had finally reached the state of isolation he had always craved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Those People In Those Old Photographs I've Seen Are Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to writteninsane for a beta.

_all those people that i’ve seen in those old photographs are dead_

Pete wandered through a vibrant hallway, portraits arching over him and glaring, not letting him drop his gaze to the floor to avoid looking into the cold, painted eyes. When he had opened the door to this mysterious hallway, a cool breeze had passed through his tattooed body, chilling him to the core. Pete wasn’t a wearing a shirt, only boxers, and he didn’t know why. The chill hadn’t gone and the lack of clothes made him feel all too vulnerable under the glazed stares of the paintings.

As he slowly made his way through the unending passageway, the paintings gradually changed. Some he recognized, some seemed familiar, others were alien to him. Suddenly there was another door in front of him, ebony with white handles. It was a far cry from the vibrant one with wild flowers painted on it that he had first entered. Still, seeing no other option and feeling only a minor sense of doom, he grasped the handle and pulled.

The handle was freezing to his skin, but the door swung open easily enough. Once again, a corridor stretched before him, but this time photos lined the walls. Old black and white photos, the still frames not really looking at him, but judging him all the same. The cool breeze blew against him again, this time from behind, and he ran. Soccer practice from years ago finally kicked in, even though Pete was out of shape.

The monotone faces blurred together as he ran, though he knew he wasn’t going that fast. He only caught glimpses, each face seeming sterner than the last. His lungs burned, his breathing caught in his throat, he saw something up ahead and--

He tripped and fell as his legs gave out.

The thing that was up ahead of him was now right in front of him. But it couldn’t be. It had seemed so far away-- and then Pete recognized what it was. It was a block of ice with something was frozen inside of it. Someone. Patrick.

His mouth was open in a desperately futile cry for help, his legs were bound, his arms tied behind his back, and his eyes. His eyes were open and staring at Pete. Pete gasped harshly, stood up and tried to back away, only to find a wall where the hallway had been moments earlier. His fingertips clutched at the plaster, he could feel them, his only anchor point as his mind screamed at him -

_Why are you running away?!_

_It’s Patrick, help him!_

_Do something, do anything!_

_Break the ice; set him free!_

_You moron!_

_You imbecile!_

_**YOU NEED TO HELP HIM** _

\- and Pete regained his motor functions and ran forward, his breath creating a mist as the temperature dropped around the block.

Pete’s fingertips clawed at solid ice this time, so thin around Patrick’s body and yet so, so thick of a barrier. And then, as he was staring through the clear ice, he noticed something behind Patrick’s prison. Two more prisons, with Andy and Joe in them.

And beyond Joe, an empty marble pedestal, just like the ones his three bandmates were on. Beside it was a pile of rope.  A voice spoke.

_“Will you save them by sacrificing yourself, Pete?”_

It was an androgynous voice, with no source. It was in his mind and it was everywhere around him, without vibrating the air, without exerting any energy. It existed without existing.Pete fell to his knees beside the pedestal, looking up into the black abyss above him.

 _“They will die in the ice otherwise, Pete,”_ the Voice stated again.

Patrick should never be that cold, thought Pete. Or Joe, or Andy. None of them deserve that fate!

_“Do you deserve that fate, Pete?”_

Pete clawed at his greasy and messy hair. Yes, he thought to himself desperately, if I was meant to do anything in this non-life of mine, it was to save the greatest force on this earth.

_“Even if it means your death?”_

It’s more of a non-life, his thoughts told him as he clambered on top of the pedestal. The ropes curled around his legs, trapping him there, reaching up and tying his hands behind him as well. He couldn’t fall, he found, even though it felt like he should, with his balance as gone as it was.

_“Then so shall it be.”_

Water spilled down from the oblivion, freezing the instant it touched the marble of the platform, immobilizing his feet. Before it was past his thighs, he saw it melting, saw the three other men thawing and breathing and living again.

Doing exactly what he was forbidding himself from ever experiencing again. He screamed as he realized that, his mouth opening in an ugly mirror of what Patrick’s had been expressing so perfectly, genuine regret and pure terror.

_“You chose. You will never be able to take this choice back.”_

Pete screamed and screamed and felt the scream cut off as the ice closed his airways, watched as the ice coated over his eyes, felt when it encased him completely.

He had finally reached the state of isolation he had always craved. He hated it.

 

Fin.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(Or is it?)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, it wasn't supposed to end like that. Maybe i'll add more later. Probably will. You'll all hate me. It'll be great.


End file.
